


You stare at them while I stare at you

by goldenheadfreckledheart



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, F/M, Friends to Lovers, casual bisexual!Bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 13:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6330739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenheadfreckledheart/pseuds/goldenheadfreckledheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Bellamy are best friends who just happen to hit on people who look like each other. It's not a big deal, really. (It is.)</p><p>BFF Writing Team fill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You stare at them while I stare at you

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the BFF prompt: "Bellamy and Clarke as best friends. They hit on/check out girls together sometimes and occasionally he tries to check out guys with her because solidarity. Only he's really bad at it and points out that some look too responsible and some look like they'd be selfish in bed. And eventually, somehow they get together."
> 
> Except why settle for solidarity when you could have bisexual!Bellamy, amirite?

 

Clarke and Bellamy are not horrible people. But, for not being horrible people, they spend a lot of time objectifying random strangers. Not like, constantly, and not loud or close enough that the targets of their ogling ever actually know they're being ogled. Clarke figures that the fact she has to justify it to herself might mean she _is_ a horrible person, though.

Bellamy usually assures her that this is not true, but he might be biased.

They don't even mean to do it most of the time, but they spend a lot of time together and it’s a (debatably) good way to pass the time. Bellamy’s been her best friend since she moved to town two years ago, which sounds like an oversimplification, but really isn't. She'd been new to the city, he was a bit of a loner, and they were just kind of… eerily similar. Both all tough, shit-talking assholes who also ran over with persistent affection, once you stuck around long enough.

And both obviously lacking in basic human decency, since they spend their Friday nights checking out people at their local bar.

 

* * *

 

It's how they meet Raven, actually, so clearly it's not all bad.

They're at the bar on a Tuesday and it's fairly empty. Clarke's has had a truly horrendous day at the hospital, and Bellamy must be able to tell she doesn't want to talk about it, because within five minutes of sitting down he asks, "Blonde behind you?"

Clarke grins a little and turns to look, before her face falls into a grimace. "She looks too much like me. It would feel like hitting on my sister."

"I thought she was cute."

"You also think I'm cute. That doesn't mean you'd do me."

He chokes on his drink and she laughs. "See. Told you. Like hitting on your sibling."

He recovers after a few seconds. "Jesus, okay, point taken."

Clarke grins at him before leaning her head on his shoulder. "Thanks for trying to distract me."

He hums and she feels in through her cheek. "’Welcome. Let me know when you wanna talk about it."

She nods, which essentially just rubbing her face against his shoulder.

They're both quiet for a moment, surveying the bar until their eyes light on Raven at the same instant.

"Dibs!" Clarke whisper-shouts, lifting her head just as Bellamy lifts a hand to point.

"Fuck," he swears, turning back to her, face half grin, half glare. "No, come on, I saw her first. And she's not your type."

"Just because she fits your kinks better than mine doesn't mean I can't call dibs."

"No way. Look at that face. You're both so angry. You'd tear each other apart."

Clarke levels and eye at him, taking the challenge with a wicked grin. "Good."

She pauses, pretending to consider. "Plus, she looks like the kind of person who likes people who know how to comb their hair, so I've got that going for me too."

"The messy look works for everyone, Clarke."

She just raises an eyebrow, and then gets a bad idea. "Let's ask her."

"Excuse me?"

"Let’s ask her which of us she'd rather be hit on by. Come _on_ ," she says when he shakes his head furtively. "I've had a terrible day, I deserve this."

He stares at her another split second before groaning, head tipping back. "You're lucky I love you."

"I know," she says, ignoring the weird flip in her chest and shooting him a blinding grin. "You're my favorite asshole. But you’re so going down."

“Cocky isn’t a good look on anyone, Griffin.”

“Beg to differ,” she retorts with a waggle of her eyebrows.

Raven’s response, when they ask her, is to laugh uproariously, which is honestly a tip off that they're going to be friends. A sane person would have told them to fuck right off.

But she just lets them both down easy, because she's just escaped an actual hell of a relationship and isn't looking to start anything new.

And then she fits herself into their lives, somehow, occasionally tagging along to the bar when they go, poking fun at their stupid best friend antics, and hanging at Clarke’s apartment when they have lazy days in.

 

* * *

 

They add Miller to the friend group in much the same way, though he's much more open about telling them that he doesn't find either of them particularly attractive. But Clarke brings along Monty that night, a new friend from work, and she doesn't miss Miller's eyes shifting toward him every few minutes.

Bellamy grins at her when they both see Miller laugh under his breath at a stupid joke that Monty makes. She gets that weird chest-flip again, but puts it down to being really happy about their expanding friend group. It’s good to have _people_.

 

* * *

 

It's Raven who points it out, when it starts.

"You know the last three guys you pointed out each had one of Bellamy's defining characteristics, right?"

"Hmm?"

She ticks them off on her fingers. "The first one had his hair, the second one had his glasses, the third one had his arms."

Clarke doesn’t have to pretend to be confused. "I honestly don't know what you're talking about."

Raven rolls her eyes, like she’s actually the most daft person she’s met. It's not the nicest feeling.

" _Raven_ ," Clarke pushes, unsettled when her friend doesn't say anything further. "Don’t be a dick. What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that your subconscious is clearly _very into Bellamy_ , and very good at keeping you from realizing it." She takes a deep drag of her beer. "That's exactly why I turned you both down when we met. I mean, that and Finn, but it’s clear you were both into each other.” She sighs deeply at Clarke’s blank look. “You know I love you guys, but you're becoming unbearably oblivious."

It’s _ridiculous,_ honestly, and Clarke rolls her eyes. But they _are_ touchy people, and best friends, so the mistake is an expected one. They get it a lot, just not usually from close friends, which is why she assumes Raven is just screwing with her.

"You're unbearably _obnoxious_ ," she shoots back with a grin, giving Raven an affectionate shove.

Because as much as she likes Bellamy, she's not crushing on him. He's her best friend. And she's definitely like a sister to him. He’s all but said so. So even if she _were_ into him, it'd be pointless.

But that doesn't keep her from noticing… _things_ from there on out. She mentally curses Raven every time she's checking out a guy and has to run his characteristics against a list of _Bellamy Things_ : Strong shoulders, good jaw, freckles, messy curls, ironic smirks, nerdy glasses that _always_ work for her goddammit. And more often than not, the similarities are there.

In her defense though, that doesn't necessarily mean anything. It's just not her fault her best friend is attractive.

Even more perplexing is that Bellamy never seems to like those guys. It shouldn’t be surprising, since he tends to lean toward girls most days anyways, but he _never_ likes these guys. He's not totally candid about it, but he'll say little things here and there that never quite sound genuine.

"Okay, sure, he's hot, but he looks like a dick, Clarke. He's probably selfish in bed." Or, even more ridiculous: "I bet he's irresponsible though, he looks like the kind of person who never does proper grocery shopping and just lives off pop tarts and booze. I can't live on pop tarts and booze, Clarke. Can you?"

But maybe he's just doing it to make her laugh, because most days they're only playing the stupid game to make her feel better, and it works. She laughs, and he smiles at her like he's winning something, by making her laugh, and it’s hard to overthink things when he's looking at her like that.

 

* * *

 

Then he starts pointing girls who look like her and she thinks she's going to lose her mind.

At first it’s just blondes, or girls with great boobs—things that she can totally play off, and totally get behind, honestly—but then he points out a guy with a mole above his lip, just like Clarke’s, and Miller fucking _snorts._

“What?” Bellamy says, narrowing his eyes at him. “He’s hot, come on.”

“Listen, I’m not going to get sucked into your guys’ obsessive need to check people out,” Miller responds, dry. “But he doesn’t do it for me, and I don’t really think he does it for you either.”

“I think we all know what _does it for you_ ,” Bellamy snarks back with a glance toward where Monty is ordering them another round, earning him a scathing glare from Miller. He tosses Clarke a triumphant grin before turning back to the conversation at hand. (Her heart _does._ _not. flip_.) “And he _is_ hot,” Bellamy says, looking back toward the object of their scrutiny. “Back me up here, Clarke.”

She recovers just enough to respond, “I don’t know, seems like one of those guys who’d be selfish in bed,” without even thinking about what she’s saying.

Bellamy’s eyes widen at her echo of his own words, but then he levels her a mock-glare. “You’re the worst.”

She grins, a little relieved. “Don’t you forget it.”

“Not likely. You keep reminding me.”

 

* * *

 

She doesn’t obsess over it. Much. Because she doesn’t have any solid evidence. The fact that Miller seems to have noticed it too doesn’t necessarily _mean_ anything.

Miller and Raven could both be delusional. It’s possible. Probable, even.

So Clarke doesn’t so much as set out to disprove the theory as the opportunity just sort of…presents itself.

"Totally your type at 2 o'clock," she says a few days later in their favorite bookstore when she sees a leggy brunette in the historical fiction section. "You could totally rock her world with your unnecessary knowledge of dead Roman guys."

He glances down the row of books, but hardly checks out the girl before shaking his head. "Nah, not feeling it."

"Bullshit," she says, half laughing, because he _can't_ be serious. "She's your type to a T."

He shrugs, noncommittal, brow furrowed, and scans the rows of books in front of him, even though she knows the author name he’s looking for starts with an S, and they’re only in the L’s. "Maybe my type's changing. Feel free to go for it though."

It’s weird, but it still doesn’t mean anything. She shrugs. "Not really my type either."

 

* * *

 

It comes to a head when he’s being fidgety at the bar the next night, alternating between drawing aimless patterns in the condensation on his glass and drumming his fingers against the table.

“Hey, what’s up with you?” she asks, sliding back into their booth with a glass of water--because she really doesn’t need to be hungover for her shift tomorrow. Their friends are busy tonight, so it’s just the two of them, though Octavia said she might stop by later.

He doesn’t answer right away, just taps his finger against his glass so that his nails make an uneven, plinking rhythm. It’s exceedingly strange for him not to immediately open up to her and rant about whatever’s bugging him, and it worries her.

“Seriously, Bellamy,” she says, snatching his hand from the glass when he still doesn’t look at her. “What’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”

He frowns at his glass. "Raven told me."

Clarke doesn't know what to do with that. "Okay… Raven told you what?"

"That you were checking out guys who looked like me," he hesitates and she freezes, his hand still caught in hers. "But yeah, I uh, I told her she was being ridiculous. It's not your fault that me and other hot guys have a lot of things in common."

He finishes with a teasing smile and she smacks his shoulder with her free hand as her heart rate slows.

He doesn’t believe Raven. Which is good. Right?

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, though, and she can't help but feel like that wasn't what he'd originally been planning to say.

“Asshole,” she says, opting to ignore the problem, because insults are clearly their love language. “What was it you said before? ‘Cocky isn’t a good look on anyone’?”

His smile is slow and full this time, a hint of hope in his eyes, she thinks. “I seem to remember you disagreeing with me.”

Her breath catches, but she tries to hide it in a cough, because she’s got to be reading too far into this. Definitely. Bellamy did not just imply what she thinks he implied.

But his eyebrows are raised and he’s wearing the same look he does when he’s hitting on a girl, except different too, softer. And she could keep making excuses, but he’s her best friend, and pretending she doesn’t know that he reads like an open book is just starting to get _cowardly_ on her part.

Without thinking too hard about it, she releases his hand leans toward him on the bench seat, catching his jaw and turning his head to press her lips to the corner of his mouth. Short.

She sits back, lips burning. “Give me a feeling, here. Exactly how badly did I misread that?"

He blinks at her for a second as her heart beats, wild, and she tries to convince herself that she’ll be fine, no matter what he says. Then he _smiles_ , and it's overwhelming for a second, that he might be right where she is.

"You remember that time you said, in such delicate terms, that I'd never ‘do you’?" he asks, serious.

She doesn’t feel anything for a moment, but then she registers his words and her heart plummets, euphoria dying in her chest quicker than it came.

"Oh. Yeah, shit, of course I remember." Her hands shake a little. "Sorry. Forget I said--or, uh, did anything. We're cool. It was um, just—"

"Clarke," he says, finding her hand where she’s pressing it into her leg to keep from shaking, taking it gently. "I was going to say, I lied." He grins. "I'd totally do you."

Her jaw drops, relief flooding, because this is exactly what she wanted, but…

"You asshole! I was panicking!" She pulls her hand from his to slap his chest. "I thought I just fucked up our entire friendship! And your epic response is that you’d 'totally do me'?"

He laughs—he looks a little guilty about it, but he still _does_ it—and she glares.

"I'm sorry! It was what I was going to say before you took it the wrong way, and my brain wasn't exactly working at full capacity after… you know, uh, being kissed by the girl I'm in love with."

The last words fall from his mouth in a hurry, as if he needs to worry that she feels the same.

She softens for a second, feels the warmth bloom in her chest.

But he _is_ still an idiot. "And you thought saying you'd ‘do me’ was, what, a romantic gesture?" she asks, gentler than before, laughter in her voice.

Her soothing tone doesn’t quite have the effect she was going for.

"I was taking back my words! It was symbolic!"

She grins at his outburst. "You're such an idiot. I honestly cannot believe I--"

She doesn't get to finish, because he's finally kissing her, hand cradling her face. It’s soft and insistent at first, and then deeper when she throws one arm around his neck, tangling her other hand in his hair. It's something she's hardly imagined, kissing him, her best friend, but somehow it’s exactly what she expected, hard and soft in all the right ways, just like they are.

She pulls away an indiscernible amount of time later to rest her forehead against his.

“I love you too, just so you know.”

His face breaks into a smile and he rubs and absent thumb across her cheek.

She pulls back just a bit further. “But you are _seriously_ awful at romantic gestures. Holy shit, Bellamy.”

He doesn’t respond right away with his usual quick snark, like she assumed he would. Instead, he takes her a bit by surprise by pressing another peck to her lips before he speaks, grin spreading across his face at her surprised expression.

"Clarke, I'd totally hit on you over any other girl in the world."

She tugs on his hair a little, where her hand is still entwined in it. "Yeah, that's so much better, thanks."

“I aim to please.”

(“...wait, what about guys?”

“I make no promise-- _ow_ , Clarke!”)

**Author's Note:**

>  _Hopefully_ going to be writing more often now. Fingers crossed. As always, come hang on tumblr ([goldenheadfreckledheart](http://www.goldenheadfreckledheart.tumblr.com))!


End file.
